


Bringing a Blowjob To A Barfight

by WeirdAlterEgo



Series: Hideyhole [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Under the Red Hood (2010)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Identity Porn, Identity Reveal, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Post-Under the Red Hood, Tim Drake is Robin, Trans!Tim Drake, but Tim doesn't really mind, it's just not clearly communicated, unbetaed hot mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:55:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27585743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeirdAlterEgo/pseuds/WeirdAlterEgo
Summary: He hears the kid before he sees him. Jason’s been wondering when he would work up the courage to approach him. Robin’s been shadowing him for days now.To be honest he'd have bet the kid would corner him on a rooftop, not here. Not now. Not tonight. Not when Jason’s really not in the mood.
Relationships: Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Series: Hideyhole [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2016472
Comments: 2
Kudos: 155





	Bringing a Blowjob To A Barfight

**Author's Note:**

> If I got anything wrong... please correct me.  
> Also my grammar is probably shit because I keep writing these things way past my bedtime. So. Yeah. Sorry?

Tim stalks the Red Hood for days before he approaches him. He's read Bruce’s short, terse entry about their encounter on the Batcomputer, which tells him absolutely _nothing_. Tim has a feeling Bruce knows a lot more than he’s letting on, which is worrying. There’s very few reasons why Bruce would omit identifying marks, features or worse, the name of someone in their files.

Plus, Tim doesn’t like not knowing.

Not to mention that the silhouette the man cuts across the Gotham night sky, his clever little digs and jibes, even the tone of his voice as it comes over all those filters, they all remind Tim of someone. Someone he just can’t place. It feels like a sore tooth he just can’t stop prodding, a maddening itch, this blank he keeps pulling even though Tim _knows_ he knows.

And he knows Bruce knows, too.

So why isn’t he telling? _What_ isn’t he telling? What is the Red Hood’s secret?

Tim has to know. So he stalks the man from mob meeting to mob meeting to stakeout to… empty, boarded-up bar, apparently.

Where he has been ensconced for over an hour now, Tim notes, checking his wristband. Tim has been sitting in the alley right behind the boarded-over staff exit, and can only hear shuffling and clinking with his surveillance tools. Whatever the Hood is doing in there doesn’t seem to be mob activity at all, and Tim is curious.

He debates whether he is curious enough to initiate contact.

The facts are, he is still on the right side of 18 as far as the Hood is concerned, for he hasn’t harmed a single child throughout his “reign” in Gotham. Furthermore, he didn’t kill any bats. He did stab Onyx on their first meeting, but it was a clean cut and she has since healed completely, so among vigilantes and villains, that was considered little more than a friendly _hey you_.

Tim had a solid chance of getting out of this altercation alive. Possibly with a stab wound, but that would be pittance if he could _know_. So he makes the executive decision to approach the Red Hood in his hideyhole.

***

He hears the kid before he sees him. Jason’s been wondering when he would work up the courage to approach him. Robin’s been shadowing him for days now.

To be honest he'd have bet the kid would corner him on a rooftop, not _here_. Not now. Not tonight. Not when Jason’s _really_ not in the mood.

He throws back the rest of the tiny vodka bottle and slams it down on top of the pool table (to complete a conga line of colorful little drink bottles) before he knocks the lightbulb over him out with a cue.

Right on time to make sure the kid who walks in doesn’t clock him on first sight.

***

Tim has no illusions that the Red Hood isn’t expecting him. He hears a sharp knock and a crash that has him reaching for his staff. Just because he doesn’t want to fight doesn’t mean he has to go in unarmed. Or unprepared.

He walks into the bar room proper from the staff room that is in serious disrepair to see a burly, shadowy figure staring right back at him from the pool table. From a first cursory glance he can tell the crash he heard before was the man putting out the light that would help Tim identify him.

Which means Tim _knows_ him.

“Well now, little Robin,” the Red Hood’s real, unfiltered voice rasps over Tim. “What brought you to this part of Gotham tonight?”

Tim swallows. He imagined the voice of the Hood to be rougher. Deeper. This voice is deceptively soft. Young sounding. He amends the age, subtracts 5-10 years. This man is in his late teens or early twenties, tops. This gives Tim less options, but there are still a few who fit the bill.

“I just wanted to talk.” Tim tells him earnestly. The staff he has raised gets collapsed with a flick of his wrist. It’s not like he can’t pull it out in a second, or just grab a chair from the bar if things get hairy. Not that either would stop a bullet, were the burly man in a trigger-happy mood.

“That’s funny. I’m not.” The Red Hood replies. He reaches over for something in the dark and Tim tenses, but the next moment he goes through the motions (with added crinkling sound) of opening a bottle, and then he drinks. Tim wishes he could _see_.

He gives the interior another look instead.

Everything is dusty and rundown. The chairs are all placed around the tables and along the bar nicely, and nothing seems to be looted, aside from what the Hood has probably been doing for over an hour now. But the look, the layout is niggling at the back of Tim’s head. He could swear he saw this bar, or at least a photo of it, bustling with people before.

But where and when?

“Want a drink?” The older man offers, reaching back into the darkness and pulling out a small bottle of cherry flavoured vodka. He offers it to Tim, who gives an indignant eyeroll when he reads the label. Not like the other man can see it over the milky white film of his mask’s eyeslots, but still.

“No, thank you.” Tim answers, possibly a bit tartly.

The man shrugs. “Suit yourself. Feel free to show yourself out. I’m not accepting silent observers at current. I trust you know the way out.”

Tim’s brain works overtime. Denying the Red Hood’s polite (for him) request would mean aggravating him, and that is the last thing he should do. Would he live to tell the tale, he would get the mother of all dressings down from Bruce.

“I really just need a few answers…” he hedges, inching a little to the left, hoping to catch a glimpse.

“Story time is over tonight, kid. Unless you stuff that pretty little mouth of yours shut, get out while the getting is good.”

They both pause at that. Tim thinks the Red Hood is more mortified than he is.

“ _Shit_. Look, kid. I’m a little drunk, and really not in the mood to bother with your lot, so just get out while I’m being nice and gentlemanly like, all right?”

Tim’s brain recalibrates on the spot. Takes in the muscled thighs, those strong, naked fingers, thinks of the voice. Stops lying about getting wet just from the sight of the Hood bending over.

“How about I blow you then?” Tim offers, feeling brave and reckless. “That would keep my mouth shut.”

There’s a stunned silence from the dark part of the room.

The growl comes first.

“The fuck.” The Red Hood hisses from the dark, sounding definitely more pissed off than Tim expected.

Previous data indicated he had no trouble with the LGBTQ community, and did not lash out at hookers of any genders at propositioning him.

Must be Tim, them.

Well. He just propositioned a burgeoning drug lord/mob boss who might or might not be someone he knows. Who is, incidentally, a very, very hot man, with a very hot voice. _Might as well stick with it_.

“You said I either stuff my pretty mouth shut, or get out. I offered that _you_ stuff my pretty mouth shut. If you are amenable.”

The man across from him sighs.

“I can’t be this drunk. I swear I’m still pretty sober. Kid, get out, I think I’m hallucinating.”

Tim huffs in utter frustration, refuses to budge. “Is that a no?”

“What the utter fuck, kid?! Did you really just offer to blow me, a complete stranger?!”

Tim… can roll with that.

“Not a stranger. But yes. My mouth, do you want it? Yes or no.”

“Jesus, you’re just a kid!”

“Over the age of consent in New Jersey.” Tim offers, because what he is hearing is _not a no_. “Yes or no?”

The Hood drinks up the rest of what’s left in his little bottle and slams it down on the table.

“If the Bat comes after me for this I’m killing him, just so you know.”

Tim shivers.

“Noted.” He clears his throat. “May I come closer?”

“Not like you can suck my cock from across the room!” The man chuckles hysterically. “Jesus I’m going to hell for this.”

Tim rolls his eyes again. Stalks over to the older man before he starts having an identity crisis as well. Is annoyed to note he still can’t make out the man’s features. Gets his head pushed down the next second.

“I know I’m handsome as fuck, but my dick’s down that way, pretty bird.”

Tim squirms from the feeling of strong fingers tangled in his hair. Thinks he might be developing a kink. Oh well.

He reaches down to undo the man’s jeans, happy to find only clean underwear and no booby traps or sharp knives. It’s not he hasn’t been surprised before. But he only smells soap and musk, and he can’t help but place a quick kiss on the quivering abs before his hand darts down to fish a condom out of one of his hidden pockets.

“Smart!” Comes the praise before Tim reaches to pull deep red briefs down to reveal a sizeable erection. “Ah! Shit!”

Tim echoes the sentiment as it slaps him right in the face. _Whoops?_

“Jesus kid, you sure you know what you’re doing?”

Tim’d be offended now, but… well. “Yeah. Of course I do.” _Theoretically._

The condom is rolled down without a hitch, and the Red Hood seems to like the few experimental pumps Tim does to talk himself into it, and then he leans over, bending at the waist so he can kiss the head.

The full-throated groan is Tim’s reward when he sinks down on the rest of the man’s sizeable erection, throat spasming until he breathes out through his nose and reins it in. He drools a bit, but the older man makes no mention it. He doesn’t make a single sound aside from the soft, regulated breathing Tim can hear from above.

So Tim begins to bob his head. First just a little, and when his gag reflex remains tamed, a little bit more rigorously. Sounds, lovely, heartfelt sounds come from the Red Hood. He is not simply groaning, he is sobbing as Tim goes to town, happy to try out all he ever wanted to but could not on a banana.

It’s not until Tim feels the man crouching over him, and deft fingers undoing the booby-traps on his pants that he panics. He wants to pull off and tell him no, because Tim’s not ready for him to _know_ , but he can’t. He is trapped with his mouth on the man’s length while he feels his pants sagging and fingers inching down down down until…

“Huh.”

Tim wants to sink into the floor. He really, really does. Or run away. But he is still trapped. Still bobbing in hopes of distracting the Red Hood.

“Shit, kid, you’re full of surprises!” The man says as he sticks two fingers into Tim’s wet pussy without Tim’s say so.

And it’s _glorious_.

He moans as those thick, calloused fingers scissor in him, rub his lips before a third brushes against his clit. He screams, the dick in his mouth muffling it all. The Hood gives a throaty moan in return, fucking up into Tim’s lax mouth, seemingly forgetting to be gentle. Tim doesn’t mind.

For a moment the man pulls his fingers out, straightens up so Tim can pull back and breathe before he is back, fingers pulling open Tim’s lips as something _other_ than fingers is pressed in.

It’s cold and rigid and long, and Tim groans as it is worked in deeper (and it starts feeling thicker, he thinks) and deeper while the cock fucks up into his drooling mouth. His hands give out when the thing is fully pushed in and he feels his lips closing up after it, his upper body flopping into the Red Hood’s lap, mouth sinking down until his lips hit coarse pubic hair.

He shouldn’t find this all so hot, but he does. He pushes against the dusty cover of the pool table, until he can pull back a bit, and then lets gravity sink him down again, while he feels calloused fingers rubbing up against his clit. They are not pushing down as hard as they could be, he knows the man is trying to be careful, but it feels… oh he feels fireworks going off behind his closed eyelids, and he is coming, legs locking up, pussy spasming around the thing the Red Hood pushed up inside him, mouth open and taking it as the man fucks his cock up into it.

He is weak as a kitten while the Hood pumps into his mouth, can’t stop the man from pulling up and redoing his pants. Can’t say a thing either, as the next second he straightens up again and tangles his hands in Tim’s hair again, holding his face gently as he fucks Tim’s mouth. Tim wishes he could see it, maybe photograph it, because they must be a sight.

He swallows around the cock the next time the Hood bottoms out in his throat, enjoys the full-throated moan before the thrusts pick up. In seconds the man is coming, filling the condom, and Tim tries to surreptiously fish out a small vial he can store a little sample, before the man cottons on.

He pulls off and sneaks the sample before he ties off the condom. When he looks up, the man is leaning back, light finally hitting his face. Not much, but enough to reach his hair and the contours of his face. And for Tim to see a very familiar domino covering his eyes.

“Shit.”

The Red Hood looks back at him, mouth curling up mirthlessly. “Not what you expected, Replacement?”

Tim swallows. He recognizes the bar now. Old haunt of Willis Todd. Jason spent a lot of his life here. Tim remembers now where he saw the photo. It was in Jason’s file. There’s a photo of little Jason with his homework strewn all over the corner under Willis’ table.

“Is it really you?” Tim asks. Because obviously every villain would deny it, good going Tim, what the _fuck_.

A little voice in Tim’s head goes _oh god oh god_ _I sucked off Jason Todd_ , and he wants to cry. Fourteen-year-old Tim would have come from the thought alone. Well… he had come from that thought many, many times before. Why stop now?

A low chuckle draws him out of his panicked thoughts. Jason, Tim reminds himself. Jason is here with him in the room. He should be focusing on that, not having a mental breakdown.

“You’ll know shortly if you analyze the samples. You’ve got sperm and fingerprints. Should be enough, right?”

Tim blushes. Squirms as he feels the tiny drink bottle (he must have inserted one of the novelty drink bottles Jason had lined up on the pool table next to him) shift in him. It’s making him wetter, knowing it’s in there.

He stares at the Red Hood, at Jason Todd, at his maddening, knowing smirk and he does what he should have done sooner.

He bolts.

He runs back to the cave, past a concerned Alfred, straight up to his room so he can undress and crouch over an evidence bag as he tries to expel the bottle without touching and smudging any possible fingerprints.

And then he flops on his bed, pulls out his vibrator and spends half an hour working himself into a frenzy before he comes and comes and comes, Jason’s name unspoken on his lips.


End file.
